


In The Dark

by Mothman_Is_My_Lord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothman_Is_My_Lord/pseuds/Mothman_Is_My_Lord
Summary: Sam and Dean go on what was supposed to be a simple salt and burn. Everything was going smoothly until the ghost decided to find it's next victim in Dean.





	In The Dark

What was with creepy, old abandoned homes and facilities that screamed at teenagers to break into? Seriously, there’s no “come in, we won’t hurt you” vibe. It’s more of a “come in and never leave” sort of feel. 

Sometimes, Dean can’t help but think that supernatural creatures being a worldwide fact might’ve made hunting easier. Teenagers would be taught at a young age not to go into abandoned buildings or mess with ouija boards like they’re a part game. Though, the government probably wouldn’t have handled it all too well. They’d make some stupid decision that would most likely end in mass genocide as monsters would be killed left in right, no matter how good or bad they are.

Dean sighed. Guess it was up to a bunch of cursed people that got their assess hauled into this life by some horrible, blood filled backstory. None of them every received any thanks, paycheck, or any recognition for what they did. All they ever got was “I hope I never see you again”- which, in all honesty, was pretty fair. For most people, seeing Sam and Dean in their town was a bad sign. It didn’t help that they were already wanted all over the country for mass murder and attempting to assassinate the President.

The eldest Winchester batted away a stray cobweb hanging right in front of his face. “Why can’t teenagers hang out at diners or their homes? What the hell is so appealing about a dirty and fucking creepy mansion?” Dean waved his flashlight around, pulling the EMF meter out of his coat pocket. Sam rummaged through various cabinets in what used to be a five star kitchen. The taller brother coughed as a plume of dust swarmed around his head. 

“I don’t know. Maybe the fear factor and just plain idiocy?” Sam suggested, closing the cupboards after finding nothing but dust bunnies. “I checked the entire library database and history on the town. There’s nothing about this place that screams ghost other than the dead victims.”

“Yeah. That and the whole fucking feel of the place.” Dean grumbled. “Besides that,” he walked out into the ginormous living room, “all you have is a crap ton of dust.” His green eyes searched the room. Sun streamed through the window panes, allowing Dean to turn off his flashlight. 

The living room was full of deep maroons and dark navy blues. All of the furniture was covered in a plane white sheet, telling Dean that they were originally planning on clearing the place out in order to cell it. Their plans must’ve been foiled because ninety years later the home was uninhabited and becoming the Sahara but with dust. 

Dust, followed by the additional cobwebs and spider webs, always seemed to up the horror factor for Dean. He hated the going into places like these. Everything was so cold and dark, not to mention overall unpleasant, that it made the hunter’s skin crawl. It didn’t matter that Dean experienced these sort of thing a lot- hell, it was apart of his job- they still bothered him to no end. 

The EMF in Dean’s hand stayed relatively calm. Every few times the first peg would light up but that was about it. Dean stared at the painting of the original owners of the house (or that’s who he thought they were). They were a family of four: Mother, Father, brother, and sister. Each member didn’t look particularly happy about sitting for hours on end in the exact same spot to have a family photo. Dean found it kind of hilarious that even if it caused them all an excessive amount of discomfort, they still put up with it anyways. 

Dean was thankful he was born in an era of Polaroid cameras and by two parents who’d rather run around the country than sit and pose in the exact same spot for more than an hour.

“Find anything, Sammy?!” Dean hollered. For some reason the father in the painting sent a familiar rush of panic through his veins. There had been one occasion that gave Dean a similar adrenaline boost but that was irrelevant to the case or hunting in general. It was a pound of personal baggage that the hunter carried with him everywhere for the past thirty years.

That one time he asked his father one innocent question.

Shoving that memory into his overflowing suitcase of shit, Dean continued on with the case at hand. “Sammy?!” 

“I’ve got nothing.” Sam said as he rounded the corner into the living room. “Pots, cast iron skillets, nothing remotely ghost related or sending off any sort of EMF.” The younger brother casted a calculating glance around the room.

“Same here. There’s a sliver of EMF in certain places but nothing that screams possession or pissed off spirit.” Dean’s body let out an involuntary shiver. “Did you feel that?”

Sam gave his brother an odd look. “No.” His eyes flashed with concern. “Why, did you feel something?” 

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s worry. Wasn’t he supposed to be the protective older brother? “Nah. I’m probably not used to leaving an extra layer behind. This place is just giving me the creeps.” Sam didn’t look entirely convinced but continued searching around the room. 

After thoroughly checking out the first floor, the moved up the stairs. The hallway was dark and filled with portraits and various photos and knittings that didn’t help ease Dean’s nerves. The long hollow hallway seemed to emphasize the creaks in the floorboards, adding to the scary movie affect.

Sam pushed open one of the many doors that lead into a luxurious (or what used to be) bedroom. Dean opened the door across from that one. This one lead into one of the biggest bathrooms Dean had ever seen. It reminded him of the bathroom owned by those posh bastards that practically lived a soap opera back when Dean had the Mark of Cain. 

At least their bathroom was clean.

Dean heard Sam open another door, probably deciding that the bedroom was clear. The hunter hurried up and checked the bathroom. The quicker they checked all these the room, the quicker they could leave.

When did that become so important to Dean?

He spared a glance at himself in the mirror, pausing when he noticed the fog around the edges. Dean reached out to touch it, dread filling his stomach when he felt the below freezing temperatures of a spirit. The EMF in his hand spiked all the way to five. 

“Sam!” Dean saw the silhouette of someone try and form in the mirror but it only ever materialized to mist. Sam barged into the bedroom, flashing his light right in Dean’s face. Just before Sam came around, the mirror had cleared up and the lazy attempt of a ghost trying to show itself faded into nothing.

“What is it?” Sam looked all over the room, shoulders squared and ready to fight anything. Even though Sam was right there, a steady anchor to every ounce of Dean’s mental stability, he didn’t feel safe. 

“There’s definitely a ghost in this house, Sam.” Dean tried to cover the waver in his words and his obvious insecurity. It hurt because the hunter had no clue what freaked him out so much. Just like every other ghost case the person made an appearance, dropped the temperature, and vanished. There was nothing,  _ nothing _ that should’ve caused Dean’s body to react like it was. 

Even though Dean did a pretty good job at putting on his poker face, Sam had spent enough time with his brother to know something was wrong. It scared Sam to see his brother obviously terrified by an unknown thing or person.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice was calm and level, something Dean wasn’t going to admit he  _ really _ needed right now. “All we need to do is check the basement and then we can get the hell out of here. Alright?”

Dean nodded, swallowing the bile in his throat and following his brother down the stairs. The hunter was angry with himself. Angry that he couldn’t control his emotions. Angry that he couldn’t buck up and be the stable figure he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be the one protecting Sam, not the other way around. John had etched that into his brain until it because merely instinct.

But this fucking house was screwing with Dean to the point where he couldn’t give a shit.

All that mattered was that he leaves  _ now _ .

Both of the hunters hesitated at stairwell to the basement. It looked like it led down to an empty abyss of misfortune and death. If anything, Dean would’ve imagined hell’s staircase like this. Not a staircase in an empty warehouse where you had to sing “Camptown ladies” to enter.

Dean groaned. “Just fucking get this over with.” The hammering in his chest and the never cells running from his brain to his legs yelled at him to run. Sam radiated concern for his older brother but pushed it to the side for now. They both walked down the stairs with a flashlight in hand. 

It almost seemed impossible for a certain room to have so much dust. The entire house already set the bar high but the basement took the cake. Every inch, crevasse, particle of air was filled with dust. Dean was suddenly glad that he didn’t struggle with any allergies besides cats.

Sam moved ahead of him, shining his flashlight over a couple of dirty desks and various storage boxes. Dean looked everywhere his brother wasn’t to cover more ground. He opened a box here and there, just to see what kind of stuff was hidden away. So far, all he came across was blankets, paperwork, and dolls.

Dark splotches against the wood caught Dean’s attention. They were spread out; some sprinkled over boxes, others against the walls or floors. “What the hell…” he muttered.

Dean was about to mention it to his brother strong footsteps sounded above them. “This house is off limits! Who’s down there?” The two brothers glanced at each other before hurrying up the stairs. Sam had already gotten his fake badge out of his pocket by the time they reached the top.

“Agents Theodore and Micah.” The cop raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Sorry we didn’t call in before but our boss wanted us to check the place as soon as possible.” Sam lied flawlessly. Dean stood behind his brother, closing the basement door behind them. 

“What’s the problem agents?” The officer asked. Even though Sam couldn’t see him, Dean still looked at his younger brother expectantly.

“..yes.” Sam tried to act professional- despite the lack of reasoning they had for actually checking the house out. “Everyone who committed suicide visited this place roughly a month before they died.” 

The officer nodded. “That was a strange coincidence, I’ll give you that one agent but they were suicides. Each person went through a dramatic mood swing and decided they’d had enough. I don’t understand what their deaths have to do with a house if they were suicides.” Dean refrained from rolling his eyes.  _ People are so oblivious _ .

“We were told to explore every possible explanation.” Sam stated simply. “Just doing my job, officer.” 

A cold chill breeze right through Dean. He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to hold back the shiver. Dean glanced at the two in front of him but neither of them seemed to notice the sudden drop in temperature. Maybe, Dean was just feeling things.

“I’ll talk with the chief at the precinct to see if there’s any files we could lend you if it helps?” The officer offered. “I’m not entirely sure what good it’ll do but if it convinces you guys then it’s worth a shot.”

Sam gave him a tight smile, “thank you.” The two hunter followed the officer out of the building. Dean was would’ve said “sayonara” but it didn’t feel like he was truly leaving this place- or at least the awful stabbing of dread.

Dean only felt worse.

***

After hours of research after their little expedition, Sam finally found something on the family from the painting. 

“Alright, apparently they were the Vales. They were a fairly antisocial group of aristocrats back in the late 1920s. There’s not much to go on sense they focused more on the stock market crashing.” Sam scrolled down on the article he found. “They were close friends with the mayor’s family and practically did everything together. Nothing I’ve found connects them to violent deaths or tragic stories. So far, they’re only your normal rich family that wanted to stay golden in the public eye.” 

Dean nodded along with what his brother was saying. “So, basically we’ve got squat?”

“Pretty much.”

“Great.” Dean stood up from the cheap motel bed. It creaked with his movements as Dean went to grab a cup of crappy motel coffee. The hunter wanted nothing more than to be back at the bunker, supported on the safety of his memory foam bed. 

“Yeah. I know. Maybe we should go question the one boy’s mom again. All she told us was her son’s mood changed suddenly after he visited the house. She could’ve left something out.” Sam offered. Dean didn’t respond. He waited for his coffee to finish brewing and decided to throw his jacket on. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Dean hummed and turned to face his brother. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s summer.” Sam said. “Not to mention I’m in a flannel and practically sweating.” 

“It’s not my fault you run warm, Sammy.” His brother gave him the infamous bitch face. “Dude, I don’t know. I’m just cold.” 

“Maybe you’re getting sick?” Sam offered. He started to stand up from the cheap round table that barely left any room for the moose’s legs. “I’ll run to the store and pick up a thermometer, real quick.”

“Hey, bring back some food, will you?” Dean yelled just as his brother closed the door. He looked around the empty room, not exactly sure what to do. There was the default of turning on the tv and flipping through the small selection of motel channels. Dean eyed the remote, nearly turning the tv on before deciding against it. That didn’t seem nearly as joyful as it normally did. It was probably due to the 24 hour marathon he had with Cas and Jack, educating them on the entirety of the Marvel movies.

The memory brought a smile to Dean’s face. He hoped Jack was doing well at Jody’s. The kid seemed thrilled to meet Jody and the girls, wanting to meet the small bit of extended family Dean and Sam had made over the years. 

Dean wishes Jack could’ve met Kevin, Crowley, and the original Charlie and Bobby. Kevin would’ve loved having another person to spend his time at the bunker with. Hell, Kevin probably would’ve been the big brother Jack never had. The prophet would’ve taught him things that Sam and Dean didn’t have time to explain and that Cas didn’t understand. Charlie would’ve thrown him into the world of media and books. She would’ve probably forced him to create a character and take him to one of her LARPing dates. Bobby would’ve been a lot better than the AU Bobby. The Bobby Dean grew up with would’ve hesitantly given the kid a chance and probably would’ve scolded him and taught him how to be an actual kid like he did with Dean when John was being a jackass. And Crowley? Dean wasn’t sure why the demon came to his head but he definitely would’ve been the weird uncle that you begrudgingly put up with but secretly love.

An unusual wave of sadness washed over the hunter. Every ‘what if’ and ‘why did’ passed through his head. Dean poured the coffee into a small cup and slumped against the headboard of his bed. He took a tentative sip, scalding coffee slid down his throat. 

The logical thing to do was sit the coffee aside and let it cool down, but Dean found he could care less at this moment. It was a relatively small cup so he downed the rest of it, throat screaming at him to stop. The heat battled against the coldness he couldn’t shake. At the cost of his throat, he was granted momentary relief from the emptiness, and dawning horror inside. The coffee burned it all away, cascading him in warmth for no more than five minutes before his body was shaking again. 

Dean felt his forehead. It didn’t feel warm. He wasn’t sweating, he didn’t have a pounding headache. As far as he could tell, he didn’t have any of the common flu symptoms. 

Then why was he so fucking cold?

The hunter kicked off his shoes and secured his jacket around him tightly. Dean turned off all the lights, and buried himself under the blankets. He hid his head underneath as many sheets he could without suffocating. His body still shook, and the blankets just created an illusion of security that he couldn’t actually achieve. 

**_You’re a killer, Dean_ ** **.**

Dean flinched under the covers. The rough, cynical voice coming from nowhere and plaguing every bit of Dean’s hearing. It was a just an added portion of the distant, indifferent cold that all of his senses were falling victim to. 

**_You’re a monster. Every one you get closed to dies because of you. You’re a awful brother and an even worse friend. You know you can be a dick but you still act the same. When was the last time you ever made a good decision?_ **

The hunter wanted to scream. Yell at whatever it was to shut up. No matter how much Dean believed the words it said, he’d come to terms with them years ago. To him, he’d never be a good guy no matter what he does. That’s just how it was. Deep down, the hunter knew he shouldn’t be hearing voices, knew that whatever this was could be connected with the case but he couldn’t bring himself to type Sam’s contact in his phone.

His entire soul succumbed to whatever the voice told him, allowing the dark chill to settle within his bones. Now, instead of cold, all he felt was numb.

***

Sam was thoroughly concerned when he came back to the motel room, carrying a small grocery bag and two big to-go bags from the nearest diner, and saw his brother passed out in the motel sheets. Dean barely moved in acknowledgment of Sam’s arrival, and didn’t even get up at the first sent of food. He just laid there.

“Hey.” Sam touched his shoulder, speaking quietly just in case. He prayed that whatever captured his brother was a sickness and not something else. It was hard to tell. “Are you up for eating?”

Dean grumbled under the covers, answering in his own way by rolling over. Sam frowned. He went back over the the small shopping bag and pulled out a small rectangular box. The younger brother fished a knife out of his pocket and tore the packaging open easily, reading the instructions before walking back over to Dean.

“Let me take your temperature real quick.” More grumbling. “Dean, come on.” Furious grumbling. “You’re the worst patient ever. How do the hospital staff deal with you?” Sam mumbled to himself. Without warning, he pulled Dean’s covers down. He was fully prepared to wrestle his brother in order to put the thermometer into his ear, and was shocked when Dean didn’t put up a fight. Dean just glared at him definitely but made no move to force Sam away. 

It was unnerving, to say the least, seeing his older brother like this. Normally, Dean wouldn’t hesitate fighting Sam hands on, cursing him out. Sam didn’t like how his brother refrained from doing so and found power in just eyeing him.

Sam didn’t know how to summarize it other than it was very unlike Dean.

After a few seconds, Sam pulled the thermometer out of his brother’s ear and sat back on his heels, reading the numbers. 98 flashed across the small screen. 

“Your temperature’s fine, according to this.” Sam stood back up. It didn’t seem like Dean was shaking anymore. Maybe he was just overreacting.

“That’s ‘cause I’m fine.” Dean rolled onto his back. “I told you that before you left.”

Sam scoffed. “Really? I just walked in with a bag full of bacon and you didn’t even move.” His brother didn’t answer him.

“What? I was comfortable.” 

“Sure.” Dean frowned.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“If you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong then how the hell am I supposed to help?” Sam asked. Originally, he tried to keep his voice calm but frustration quickly creeped it’s way in. “You always try and keep things to yourself and I can tell that something’s wrong. I’ve known you my whole life, Dean.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m fine. So what if I’m not hungry? That’s none of your business. Hell, that’s not even any of my business. I don’t decide how my stomach feels.” It was a weak argument. That much Dean knew. He knew he should tell Sam about the voice and the hollow pit in his soul but there were no words. Every time his mind tried to form a possible explanation or inquiry, cold picks stabbed at his brain. 

It wasn’t that he  _ didn’t _ want to tell Sam, it was that he  _ couldn’t _ .

Sam eyed Dean for a minute. They both held each other’s gaze, a silent argument among them. The younger brother’s screamed “you aren’t fooling me, Dean.” while the elder’s challenged with, “what’re you going to do about it?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed in exasperation. His mind was frantically worrying about his brother despite surrendering to his brother’s obvious retaliation. So he couldn’t ask Dean about it? That couldn’t stop him from keeping an eye out and figuring it out on his own. 

Dean was silent the rest of the night. He didn’t bother to eat anything or bid Sam goodnight. The older brother just changed into a comfortable pair of clothes and curled back up into the covers. His back was tense, Sam noticed. Whatever was bother his brother hadn’t left after their dispute. If anything, it only made it more prominent that something was up. 

Sam watched his brother for awhile. After a few hours of mindless research, Sam put the food in the small provided fridge, and went to bed.

***

Dean didn't want to get out of bed. All of his limbs felt heavy and his entire existence didn’t believe getting out of bed would make him feel better. It was weird. His body was tired despite all the sleep he got. He was never mentally prepared for the fight but normally once he had multiple cups of coffee the exhaustion would fade away as the caffeine did its job.

The hunter was on his fourth cup, and he still felt like crap.

Sam was still knocked out in the bed across the room. Dean had woken up due to a nightmare that pushed him into reality. He nearly fell out of bed, heart pounding so loudly it rang in his ears. It was deafening- a feeling that could rival Cas’ screeching voice. The fact that his ears didn’t bleed surprised the hunter to no end when he looked at himself in the mirror. 

Instead of blood, all Dean saw was the age written between the fine crinkles he hadn’t noticed before. He was over forty now but they were never so prominent that Dean could see them well away from the mirror. Maybe if Dean saw himself in the mirror more often, he’d see how everything crappy he’s ever went through marked his body like a paintbrush to a canvas. Not counting the scars that developed over time.

Dean argued with himself. He should get up, prepare his brother a cup of coffee, start working on the case, and just  _ move _ . The hunter was never able to stay still for so long unless it was during a movie marathon or some long stretch of research that Sam forced him to sit through. Even during those times he tended to feel a small sliver of boredom etch it’s way between the laces of happiness. The other half ordered him to do nothing. In the long haul, there was nothing for him to do but simply move along. Why go about your day like your making a difference when, in reality, your brother and best friend are making all the tough decisions and making others proud. They don’t have a bone of selfishness in their bodies. 

It wasn’t that Dean particularly wanted to do nothing, he just couldn’t see himself doing something. He wasn’t even content with the thought of laying here all day but it seemed to be the only thing he could do. 

_ Wow _ , Dean made a face towards the ceiling.  _ I’m pathetic _ . 

Sam rose from bed with his hair untamed two hours after Dean’s crisis. He cast a concerned look towards his older brother, asking if he was okay without voicing anything. The younger hunter wasn’t completely sure which stage Dean was at in the “Dean Winchester cycle of emotions”. There was stage one: lying about something horrible, stage two: lying with a side of stubbornness, stage three: anger and stubbornness all laced together, stage four: maybe I won’t punch you if you ask me again, and lastly stage five: ask me about it ‘cause I’m not going to bring it up on my own.

It was always a gamble. Even after knowing Dean his entire life, he still has yet to master the Dean Winchester cycle of emotions.

“Sammy, how many times do I have to say I’m fine for you to get your fuckin nose out of my business?” Dean’s voice was scratchy but not on a lower pitch, telling Sam that his brother had been up for a few hours. Though, it did sound like Dean had downed a box of nails and tore his throat apart.

“Okay. I was just checking.” Sam tried to sound calm. He knew by now that he couldn’t get irritated with his brother while Dean struggled through the first few stages. It’d only prolong the stage and up Dean’s insecurity factor that Sam knew he had when it came to emotions. 

Sam moved around the small half of the motel room that was the kitchen and poured the water into the supplied coffee pot. “So, I was thinking we should revisit with Mrs. Kortney and ask her some follow up questions.” He waited patiently for the coffee maker to finish before pouring what was most likely awful coffee into a small cup. “Hopefully that might help push us in the right direction.” He took a cautious sip, wincing at its bitter stale taste. “Or, any direction for that matter.”

Dean shifted, pulling himself so he was resting his back against the headboard. His bones ached in a dull protest at the slight movement, but not painful enough to inflict any sort of discomfort. It wasn’t just his body that felt exhausted, it was every fiber of the hunter that didn’t want to move.

Besides that one flicker inside his brain telling him to get his lazy ass out of bed.

Right now the vote was 5000 to 1. 

“Actually, I think I’m coming down with somethin’. If you think you can handle the questions on your own, I was just planning on staying here and sleeping it off.” The lie was smooth to the point where it was barely a lie. He felt like shit and some brain cell within his noggin told him that sleep might help. His dreams may have turned into nightmares last night but Dean was all out of options. He didn’t have a fever, wasn’t coughing, didn’t have a runny nose, or any other cold symptoms besides the fact that he was  _ tired _ .

Sam’s forehead crinkled. “Of course I can handle it on my own. Are you going to be okay alone?” 

Dean squared his jaw and squinted his eyes, hoping to convey an agitated “if I have to tell you I’m fine one more time…”.

The younger brother raised a hand in defeat. “Okay. I’ll give you a call if when I’m done.” 

Like last night, not another word was shared between the two brothers. Sam moved across the room, changing into his fed suite, gathering multiple weapons, and sparing small glances at his brother just in case Dean suddenly changed his mind. 

His brother didn’t come around by the time Sam was ready. All Dean did was toss Sam the keys to the impala and mutter a small “see ya later” before the younger Winchester had left the motel.

Sam opened the driver’s side door, slid into the seat, and hesitated before putting the key into the ignition. His instincts told him not to leave Dean alone while his brain was still thinking about the case. Talking to Mrs. Kortney shouldn’t take too long. He’ll be back in no time.

As he tried to convince himself, Sam couldn’t help but pull his phone out of his pocket and hover his thumb over Cas’ contact. If Dean was sick and Sam just so happened to stumble upon the ghost that was behind the murders, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to back him up. 

That and Sam hoped that whatever he couldn’t get out of Dean, Cas would.

The phone line rang for ten seconds before Cas answered. “Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas. I was wondering if you wanted to come help me with this case me and Dean are working on?” Sam asked. “Dean’s not feeling well and I could really use another opinion on the little information we were able to collect.”

“Of course. What’s wrong with, Dean?” Sam nearly rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that slid onto his face. 

“I don’t think even he knows, to be honest.” 

He could practically hear Cas’ frown. “You mentioned before you left that you’re only a couple hours away, correct?”

“Yeah. We’re about three hours out of Lawrence.” Sam told Cas the address and told the angel to meet him at the motel. 

Sam felt a bit better knowing that he’d have Cas’ help with everything. This helped ease his worries as he drove to Mrs. Kortney’s house.


End file.
